


Stumble Through Heaven

by nesrynfaliq



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: ACOWAR, Eventual Smut, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Listen Mor needed some happy lady loving, Most unfortunately this prompt came to me, acowar spoilers, but it's better than nothing, so what she has now is angst and hurt/comfort lady loving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-11
Packaged: 2018-10-28 22:51:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10841127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nesrynfaliq/pseuds/nesrynfaliq
Summary: ACOWAR SPOILERS.After her fight with Feyre, Mor seeks solace in the Winter Court camp and runs into an old flame, Selene, Viviane’s younger sister. They revisit their history with one another. Rating will go up in the next part but this one is SFW.“How are you?”There’s enough pointed emphasis in the last word that Mor knows the female can still read her as easily as she remembers how she prefers her tea. She turns away, looks down the sharply sloping hill to the battlefield again, churned and ragged and raw. A good mirror for the way she feels. All she says however in answer to Selene’s question is, “Fine.”





	1. Part 1: The Calm

**Author's Note:**

> Splurge written and not edited. Rating will go up in part 2 which should follow very soon for anyone who is interested. 
> 
> (I'm aware my timings are wonky, this doesn’t technically work in canon but it’s close enough and by the time I realised it didn’t work I was already attached to the idea and it was too much effort changing it for a relatively small detail)

Despite the thick heat of the Summer Court, the air wet with blood after a day of battle and the mourning tears that followed, the Winter Court encampment still somehow feels cold to Mor. A sharp breeze lifts, tugging at her hair, stirring it around her face, as though trying to pull her away somewhere. She ignores it.

Still in the clothes she had worn when she’d descended down into the battle, not bothering to strip out of it. The armour feels like a lead weight now, dragging her weary limbs down. Exhaustion gnaws at her and she should sleep, should go back to her own camp, her own tent, curl up and let that fatigue drag her into tomorrow but...

She had needed to get _out_ , to get away from all of it. Cassian’s injuries had rattled her, even if the stupid prick would be alright. She had _been_ there, feet from him as he’d been torn apart before her eyes and she’d felt sure she was watching his death, helpless. Helpless again when she had returned to the camp and found Feyre gone, had to restrain herself from shaking that sister of hers to make her tell her where she had gone so she could find her and drag her back. Helpless as she had looked into Rhys’ terrified eyes and been forced to confess that she had been tricked, that she had been lied to, _again_ , that those closest to her would rather go behind her back than trust her.

Then the fight with Feyre in her tent after she had returned. In one piece, thank the Mother, the things that she had said to her, the things she had heard come tearing from her friend’s lips. She closes her eyes, hugging herself, her fingers gripping onto her arms until it hurts. That breeze lifts again, carrying with it the tears that burn her eyes and fall as she bows her head, shaking, attempting to master herself.

They’re at _war_ she doesn’t have time to sit here and feel sorry for herself, she should be in camp, helping, planning, _doing_ something. Instead she’s sitting here, like a child pathetic and frightened and helpless all over again. She holds her head in her hands, shaking, not caring who sees. None of the Winter Court soldiers are likely to bother her. They would have to come seeking her, where she’s huddled on the edge of this war camp, over-looking the battle field that Feyre had tricked her onto, where Cassian had nearly died right in front of her, where-

She looks up at the soft, lithe footsteps that sound at her side. A beautiful Winter Court fae stands there, looking down at her. Selene. Viviane’s sister. It’s been decades since they’ve been this close to one another, not since before Amarantha. Yet she hasn’t changed. She remains the same. A tall, willowy pillar of frozen steel, cold and unyielding, precise and elegant as a sculpture. Her long silver hair restrained by a thick braid wrapped around her head like a crown. She looks strikingly like her older sister, except her eyes, they’re sharper, colder, and of a steely grey, a windswept mountain to her sister’s bright ocean sapphire.

For all they look alike however, there are no squealing outbursts and desperate hugs between the two of them. Only quiet. The same kind of quiet that always fills Mor whenever she looks into those pale, fathomless eyes, the same kind of quiet she wishes she could exist in for the rest of her life. The tension seems to bleed from her as that silence sweeps through her, a bone deep calm that she only ever feels around a few people in this world.

Wordlessly, taking Mor’s lack of brusque demand for her to leave her alone as acceptance of her presence, Selene carefully lowers herself down onto the ground, then passes over a cup of tea. Mor accepts it gratefully, holding it between her hands to warm them from the chill night that’s starting to draw in around her. She sniffs at the tea before she takes a sip. The mixed scents of citrus and apple draw a small, sad smile from her. All these years...All these years but Selene still remembers her favourite blend.

They sit in silence for a long moment, sipping their tea, Mor grateful for the other female’s company, despite the faint knot of tension that starts to pulse in her stomach at her presence. So long, it’s been so long since they were together, all this time, both likely fearing the other lost after Amarantha’s conquest and yet...Yet still the quiet embraces them, holds them tight, somehow more intimate than the tight embrace Viviane had swept her into when they had seen each other again.

It’s a gift, this respite that she offers her. But eventually, Mor finds herself asking quietly, “How are you?”

Selene stiffens almost imperceptibly, takes a sip of her own tea, mint, if Mor isn’t mistaken. Even without the scent she would have known. She remembers her too. Then she says, “Well.” Her voice is the same as she remembers it, like snow melting from a mountainside, cool and heavy and smooth, with that soft rasp to it that makes her shiver.

It had been a loaded question, a question asking after how she had fared all these years they had been apart, with the distance of grief and loss between them. That she had chosen not to answer it, to confine their discussion to the present...Says all she needs it to.

She turns to face Mor, her eyes seeming to glow a dark silver as the light from the camp behind them catches, “How are _you_?”

There’s enough pointed emphasis in the last word that Mor knows the female can still read her as easily as she remembers how she prefers her tea. She turns away, looks down the sharply sloping hill to the battlefield again, churned and ragged and raw. A good mirror for the way she feels. All she says however in answer to Selene’s question is, “Fine.”

To her surprise, that response tugs a soft huff of laughter from the female sitting by her side, legs folded beneath her, back perfectly straight, “All these years, Morrigan,” she says quietly, taking a drink of her tea before shaking her head. “All these years and you still think you can hide from me.”

She doesn’t look at her as she says it, continues gazing serenely out over the battlefield, stray locks of silver dancing around her face like lost spirits. The calm, impassive set of her face implies that they might be talking about the weather.

Mor bristles. At the words. At the assumption in them. At the calm. She had loved it at times, yes, but at times, times like this, times when she wants that mask to shatter and reveal the storm beneath, she hates it. “What’s that supposed to mean?” She demands sharply, the words laced with a snarl that makes them harsher than she had intended.

Selene, as is her wont, remains utterly composed and unruffled by the display of aggression on her part. “It means that I know you,” she says simply. She takes another draught of tea then adds, before Mor can protest, “Fifty years apart or five hundred, it makes no matter. I know you.”

Mor’s anger recedes at those words, at the truth contained within them. She _does_ know her, she always has. Even from that first moment that they met, she had looked into her eyes and known, known right then that something darker than the bright sunshine she coated herself with lurked beneath her warm eyes. She’s always had this effect on her, always been able to gentle her, quiet her, soothe her with a few soft words, bare her body with some soft touches, brush her fingers against her very soul with a kiss.

“I know when something is wrong,” Selene continues, every word carefully selected, controlled, quiet, precise. “What happened?”

Mor closes her eyes, looking away from her. When she opens her eyes she lets her gaze stretch to the endless horizon beyond, past the bloodied battlefield and the grows that are starting to gather in clouds above it. A feast of the dead that she does not want to look at or think upon right now. Her throat tightens as the memory again surges. A part of her wishes to shove it down, wishes to continue insisting that everything is fine.

 Yet...Yet it’s not fine. And she hasn’t seen this woman in fifty years but...But it’s as though they’ve been together through it all, side-by-side as they once were, as they perhaps should always be, and the words come before she truly thinks of them, because a world in which she feels the need to hide from this woman, this woman who has seen and knows every inch of her body, her heart, her being...Is one she might not feel inclined to save any more.

“I had a fight with a friend,” she confesses tightly. Selene’s eyes slide to glance at her, though she remains facing the field and doesn’t turn to her. She notes the tone, the rawness in Mor’s voice, as though the aftermath of the fight still stings at her throat, ravages the words when she tries to speak of it.

“About the war?” Selene enquires carefully, slender silver eyebrow arching. “Sure that is not enough to-“

“No.” Mor grits out, voice brittle. She takes a deep breath, clenching and unclenching her hands in her lap, a gesture that isn’t missed by Selene’s razor eyes. “Not about this about-“ She can’t say it, can’t get the words out, not even to Selene, who knows, who _understands_ she can’t she- Mor doesn’t realise how violently she’s shaking until she feels Selene’s hand on her back. Ice seems to spread from where they connect, the cold spreading through her, calming her.

Swallowing hard, Mor lets Selene gently rub her back in big, broad circles, unable to bear, for all her cool indifference, seeing her suffer this way. The touch is intimate, deeply personal and again it feels like no time has passed between them, like it was only yesterday they were bundled naked together beneath fires, in front of the roaring fireplace in the small mountain lodge that Selene called her home.

Finally, Mor manages to say tightly, “She knows.” Selene stiffens, her eyes going wide in surprise, “About me. About-“ She doesn’t have to finish, the way she squeezes her shoulder communicates well enough that she understands.

Mor bows her head, thick golden hair falling over her face, shielding the pain carving lines into her skin, hollowing out her eyes. She had been careful, she had been so careful all these years, had hidden all those she had been with, all those she might have fallen in love with...All those she _had_ fallen in love with to keep herself safe. If the Circle knew the male lovers she had taken confused them enough that they kept quiet, kept wandering but never...Never in five hundred years had anyone challenged her the way that Feyre had.

They’re quiet for a long time, until a tear finally breaks free of Mor’s iron restraint and slides down her cheek. Before she can lift her own hand, Selene is there, pale, delicate fingers brushing it away, strengthening her. “Don’t you think,” she asks, voice quiet and measured but with a tightness that hasn’t entered it since she joined her here, a tightness she hasn’t heard for fifty years. “Don’t you think it would be so much better for you if you just told-“

There was no judgement in the words. None. There never had been. Not from her, _never_ from her. She understand too well, understands her and understands this, what it feels like, to be asked to bear such a tender, delicate part of herself that has never been seen, never touched before by any who don’t have a similar part of themselves.

“Don’t start that again,” Mor snarls viciously, pulling away. The words snap out of her and she regrets them the instant they leave her mouth, as Selene’s hand leaves her back but...She can’t go through that again, not with her, not so soon after Feyre, when everything is still so raw and aching.

Selene holds her furious stare, her own burning gaze meeting one of calm, tempered ice. Neither of them look away, neither bending or breaking, but it is Selene who speaks first. “I only want you to be happy, Mor,” she says, her voice uncharacteristically soft and gentle, “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I know, I know,” Mor whispers, dropping her eyes at last and staring at the hands that are now fumbling uncomfortably in her lap to keep them from seizing one of Selene’s. “I’m sorry,” she mutters, quiet and brittle.

Selene surveys her for a long moment without saying anything, then, “It was bad?”

Mor can’t bring herself to answer her, the words jamming in her throat, she only manages a tight nod.

Selene draws in a heavy breath, fidgeting, uncharacteristically, with a loose thread in the fitted silver tunic she wears. Selene rarely wore dresses, feeling out of place and uncomfortable in the flowing silks and frills that Mor and her sister so loved. She had coaxed her into a few over the years and the sight of her in them always damn near destroyed her but...There was something _right_ about Selene in the tunics and jackets and furs of her court.

Finally she says quietly, “I _was_ pleased to see you, today, you know.” Mor blinks in surprise, not having expected the conversation to take this turn. “I know I may have reacted...poorly, especially compared to-“ A muscle feathers in her jaw as she snaps her mouth shut, forestalling the comparison to her sister. A slight shake of the head, “I apologise,” she says stiffly, too stiffly.

A soft smile brushes Mor’s lips for the first time that night. “You seem to forget,” she says quietly, reaching over and slipping her hand, warm from the tea that’s slowly growing cold, into hers. “That I know you, too.” Selene looks up at her, those impenetrable grey eyes yielding just a little for her. Her thumb strokes absently over the back of Mor’s hand. She shivers at the contact.

“I had thought you must be dead,” Selene says quietly, “After all that time, no word from you in that court. Even...In that place...”

Her eyes darken at the mention of Under the Mountain. Mor stiffens at the mention too. She had gone with Kallias that day, his right hand, his sworn shield, had remained there with him during Amarantha’s reign. Selene swallows hard, composing herself, pushing down whatever dark memories had reached up to take hold of her and Mor realises...Realises that she knows this woman but...There are scars that she doesn’t know, demons she has not yet met, ghosts that have not been buried.

Her voice is perfectly steady when she resumes, “I thought of asking Rhys for news of you,” she says quietly. “I was never close to him, rarely spent time with him but I knew he was your cousin, knew he cared for you, trusted you and yet...The mask he wore there, the things that he did-“ She cuts herself off when she feels Mor starting to shake beside her. Her thumb strokes over her hand again and her voice is controlled when she continues, weighing each word.

“I was not sure if I could trust him. I wanted to ask after you to know if you were safe, if there was even a shred of hope but...” She bows her head, shaking herself. “I told myself it would be worth it, whatever bargain he might strike with me, whatever wicked price he might compel me to pay it...It would have been worth it...For you.” Mor swallows tightly past the lump in her chest, struggling to remain grounded, present. “I was a coward,” Selene whispers, hanging her head, her eyes closing, though she doesn’t pull away from Mor, their hands remaining entwined, bridging the distance between them.

Mor opens her mouth to push back, to counter her, but Selene is already going on, speaking her words into the dark, cool night that’s slowly starting to unfold around them, darkness embracing them.“I should have asked him, I should have asked after you then I would have known, then today perhaps I-“ She straightens her spine, exhaling, her breath blowing out in a cloud in front of her. She turns at last and looks at Mor again as she says, “Seeing you again today, it was a shock. After all this time I, I-“

She stops herself, turns away again, unable to say what she feels for her in this moment. But Mor hears it all the same, echoing across fifty years spent in fear and uncertainty and distance, the longest they had ever gone without seeing one another. _I missed you_.

The argument with Feyre keeps playing over and over in her head, a never-ending echo that makes her feel an odd combination of emotions, anger and fear both strong among them. And the feelings that Selene has now stirred, the lust, the want, the desire, with the words, spoken and unspoken...It’s too much. They rage within her, a fire that’s blazing out of control, setting her on edge and making her wince as every movement sends it flashing through her raw nerves.

She wants the softness she knows she can draw from Selene, the tenderness that she isn’t sure anyone else has ever truly known from her, not in the way she has. The ice in her touch would be the most welcome thing in the world.

Others had fled from it, had turned their backs on her, not wanting the cold, distant woman, not able to see the light that burned in her eyes when she set them on fire, a Starfall whenever they were entwined. She longs for it, has longed for it all these long years, she realises, looking at her now. She had never thought to have it again, had never thought to be this close.

Mor realises that she’s leaning into her, instinct drawing her forwards, the same kind of force as the pull that ties her to the earth, irresistible, inevitable. She wants this. She wants _her_. She wants the soothing calm that always floods through her whenever they’re together. Other lovers have set her on fire, stoked the flames that writhe and dance in her blood, in her heart. Selene...Selene had soothed it, had gentled it, had made it all stop for the first time in her life. When she had taken her to bed that first time, all those years ago, on a diplomatic mission to her court...She had never experienced anything like it before.

Selene was so often dismissed, so often in her sister’s shadow. Many made the mistake of assuming she was bitter about that, that she disliked the attention lavished upon Viviane but...She had confessed to liking it. The two of them understood one another and Viviane’s shadow, quiet, calm, peaceful, was exactly where Selene longed to be.

 She would have died for her sister, a hundred times over, before letting so much as a scratch touch her soft skin. That was Viviane’s power, her charm, the way wielded the beauty the Cauldron had given her, deflected attention from her reserved sister but Mor...She loved Viviane dearly, the two so alike in personality and taste that they had connected at once, all bubbly laughter and excited shouts. Viviane was alive with energy and joy and yet, despite that shine, that presence, that magnetic pull towards her...The moment Mor had set eyes on Selene she had wanted her.

She had not taken a female lover since Andromache’s death but when she saw Selene...Her heart had constricted, her lungs emptying of breath. The world around her had gone quiet and dark and cold and she had never wanted it to switch back on, had not wanted the raucous laughter or pounding music to distract from _this_.

Mor had looked at Selene and she had been home. She was Velaris when it came alive after the sun had set and the stars scattered themselves about the sky above. She was the quiet time she spent during the nights, stood on a balcony, the cool air a fresh and welcome touch upon her skin, fever hot from dancing and singing and laughing at Rita’s. She was the heavy embrace of the darkness gilded with moonlight that made her feel safe, cherished.

Their courtship had been quiet, tentative. Mor had made excuses, so many that Cassian had teased her mercilessly and Az had quietly asked if everything was alright, to return to the Winter Court to visit her. She pretended it was for Viviane, their friendship so open and the letters they sent one another so constant that no-one questioned it but...But as soon as she could she went to Selene.

It took her time to open up, to trust Mor, to let her in. But soon...Soon she was showing her the court, at first just the cities, her favourite places to eat or to shop, different from the bustling places Viviane had dragged her too. But then something had changed, Selene had softened, a more vulnerable side emerging, and she’d taken her to all of her favourite places.

Mor hadn’t been able to get enough of her. There hadn’t been enough hours in the day, enough weeks in the ear, enough years in her eternity to spend with her. She had been so timid, opening up to her, revealing how she felt about females. It had been easier with Andromache. She had been human, separate, distinct. Selene...Selene was fae, was part of that world, could have ruined her so easily and yet...And yet. She had not been able to help herself.

That first time they had slept together had been the first time that Selene had seen Velaris. Mor had taken her, taken her to all of her favourite places, shown her everything she could all in that one visit. She had been sure she had overwhelmed her, sure she would simply wish to return home the next day, exhausted but...But instead they had ended up in that cabin in the mountains and Selene had stared with wonder at the night their court was famous for and then...Then she had kissed her.

They had tumbled into bed that same night and Mor had not known pleasure like this since Andromache had died, had never thought to feel this kind of pleasure again. Everything had gone quiet and still. She had forgotten that there was a world out there beyond that cabin, beyond the space where their bodies connected.

It had not lasted. Reality had rushed back in. One particularly bad visit to the Court of Nightmares had caused her to end it in a blind panic, imagining all of the things that her father would do to Selene, her beautiful, wonderful Selene, if he ever found out about her, about this. That terror, that he might take her from her, that he would hurt her, destroy her and she couldn’t stand it. She had handled it badly and Selene...After all the time it had taken to build up her trust, her interest, she had ruined everything between them that night.

Yet it handed ended there. They had both been young and foolish and Mor was still connected to that court through Viviane. Selene, it seemed, had never explained to her sister what they had had, what they had been to one another, what they might have been had Mor not rejected her. Viviane had, eventually, dragged her into staying with her once more and when she had seen Selene...She had broken.

She had confessed everything to her that night. The Court of Nightmares, the way she had grown up, what her father and Eris had done to her after she had slept with Cassian and ruined her betrothal. Selene had listened in that way of hers, that quiet that somehow went beyond silence, a calm so razor-edged and lethal that Mor could see the wild thing stir to life in her eyes. They had fallen into bed and into love with one another all over again but...

It had still ended. It always ended. Mor panicked. Or Selene needed more than she could give her. The distance grated on them. The need for secrecy and lies broke them both. Something always happened to tear them away from one another but...But something always happened to bring them back. No matter how far she ran, no matter how far apart the world pulled them something was always stronger, it always brought them back. Even conquest and war and tyranny had not been enough to separate them.

Here they were again, on the precipice of the dawn of the new world and they were together. They had survived. They were here. And Mor wanted her, she craved her, she _needed_ her.

Not just for the reckless defiance that blurred the lines between sense and spite after the argument with Feyre. Not just because she needed something, _anything_ , to take her away from the horror of this war, the prospect of watching those she loved die around her. Not just because she wanted someone to just _hold_ her for one damned night where she could be soft and vulnerable, and something less than strong. Because she wanted _her_. She needed _her_. She always had. A part of her likely always would.

Selene feels her stare and turns slowly to her. Mor catches a flicker of lust lighting the deep slate grey of her eyes, making the silver dance through them. Then they slide down to her lips. Remaining there. She does not look away this time, does not flinch from the heat and lust that she must be able to feel blazing from her, that she can surely scent with so little distance between them.

Mor moves closer to her. They’re out here in the open, a stone’s throw from the entire Winter Court army. Her own army is camped not far from there, her own father amongst them but...But she feels reckless, defiant in the face of Feyre’s accusations, the words she had hurled at her. _Liar. Liar. Liar_. She squeezes her hand tightly, their lips a mere fraction from one another.

She feels it, _tastes_ it, when Selene whispers, “Mor.” It’s a warning, a reproach, a hesitation but...She does not pull away. Her eyes flutter, half-closed, her mouth parts slightly, seeking for Mor’s.

A flicker of uncertainty stirs inside her as she realises how close they are, how open and exposed and vulnerable. She covers the moment, getting smoothly to her feet, as though this had always been the intention, the moment that had passed between them just now nothing more than a tease. “Come,” Mor murmurs quietly, not taking her eyes from the female still sitting primly upright on the grass, not having moved.

Mor holds out her hand. Invitation. Offer. Plea.

“Mor-“ Selene begins, still not moving.

She keeps her hand held out to her, says once more, not bothering to try to hide the faint note of desperation in her voice, not from her, when she says again, “Come.”

Selene takes a breath, closing her eyes, pressing her lips together. Then, faster than Mor can see, her hand shoots out, closing around Mor’s own, her grip death tight. A moment later she’s winnowed them, drawing them both into darkness and shadow, away, away, somewhere they can be alone together at last.

****

 


	2. Part 2: The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having winnowed them back to her tent within Kallias’ war camp, Mor and Selene distract themselves from the coming war and get lost in each other again. NSFW. Sin ahead. Much lesbian sin. Enjoy.

 

Mor opens her eyes and finds herself in Selene’s tent. She knows without needing to see it that it’s the complete opposite of Viviane and Kallias’ which will no doubt be overflowing with comforts and luxury. Selene’s is spartan, small, incredibly neat and organised, with only the bare essentials crammed into it. A cot in one corner for her to sleep in and a desk with neat piles of reports and a few books in the other is the only real furniture beside scattered chairs. It’s the kind of temporary war-time space that Cassian would approve of.

Selene doesn’t give her much longer to examine the space. As soon as they’ve both settled she pulls her to her, her hands going around her waist, pulling their bodies flush together, not batting an eyelash at the filth and gore that still stains her leathers.

 The moment seems to contract, stretching out as they both let themselves pause for a short span of heartbeats that seems to contain every year they were separated. Time slows, pulsing around them in heavy waves, the sounds of the war camp establishing itself around them fade away. She can hear the thud of their hearts, the catch in Selene’s breath as their bodies press together.

So long, it’s been so long so long since she’s been with someone she truly wanted to be with in this way and Selene...All that time spent Under the Mountain and then helping the Winter Court recover from Amarantha’s reign..She wouldn’t be surprised if this is the first time anyone has touched her like this in fifty years.

They’re so close, so close. Mor can see the small band of silver in her slate grey eyes, the strands of hair that have come loose from her braid, can taste the heat, the need on the breath that whispers against her lips. She wants it, wants it all but, but she needs to be sure, sure that Selene wants this, that she won’t regret it. She feels impulsive and reckless and she knows, knows how easy it is to drag Selene along with that current, pull her into something they’d said...Said they were done with. She forces the moment to last, holding herself back, waiting, opening her mouth to say something then-

Selene snaps first. The tension breaks, that suspended moment collapsing around them as she lifts one of her hands from Mor’s waist, trailing it through her long golden hair. Then she’s cradling her cheek, her eyes softening even as the storm breaks behind them, shattering the cold stone. Her head tilts, her lips parting as her eyes drift shut and Mor holds herself still, doesn’t allow her body to surge for her, lets this happen softly, tenderly, in the way they both deserve.

Her lips are soft, warm silk beneath her own and Mor doesn’t try to suppress the soft noise in the back of her throat, caught between a whimper and a gasp, as their mouths finally meet. It’s a cautious thing, the distance of fifty years and words both said and not echoing between them, careful, controlled. Selene only lets the ghost of a kiss pass between them before she’s drawing away and Mor’s body is howling because it’s not enough, not enough. But even that is distant, drowned by the heavy, echoing silence that envelopes them and cradles them together after so long.

“I missed you.” She doesn’t know where the words come from, what bids them to rise in her throat, but she doesn’t stop them falling from her tongue, and she doesn’t regret it once it’s spilled from her. She has missed her. She’s missed this. This intimacy, this comfort, this _rightness_ , that only comes when she’s in this woman’s arms, that she hasn’t felt in so long that a soft sob rasps out of her.

Selene cradles her face in her hands, their foreheads pressed together. Her eyes are closed tight but from the way she trembles she knows that a similar emotion flows through her lover. “I missed you,” Mor whispers again, meeting Selene’s over-bright eyes as she raises her head again.

Her only answer to that is another kiss. The first had been gentle, like the fringes of a cold lake lapping at a tired shore, comforting, soothing the raw, ragged sores left after her argument with Feyre. This kiss...This kiss obliterates her. It’s hard and deep and there is nothing tentative, nothing uncertain about it. The distance thunders through this kiss too, roaring its defiance against a world that would separate them for so long, would keep them from each other, from _this_.

The first press of Selene’s tongue against hers has her knees buckling, a hoarse whimper rasping out of her as she does. But Selene’s arms are around her, strong and secure and safe and she doesn’t let her fall. This fortress of ice and steel and stone welcomes her inside, lets her touch her without walls, lets her know her without armour, lets her see her heart without the cage of ice she holds around it to protect it from others. 

Mor finds her fingers into Selene’s braid, tugging out pins, letting them drop the floor around them until the long sheet of silver hair cascades down around her hands. She tugs gently on it and Selene at last looses a soft sound into her mouth. Mor’s fingers move to her tunic, tugging at the stiff buttons that run up the length of it while Selene starts to work on her leathers. She makes far better progress. The light, flexible Illyrian flying leathers were made to be put on, and taken off, quickly, Selene’s tunic on the other hand...

“Damn Kallias and his need for fashionable uniforms,” Mor snaps out, tugging impatiently at the stiff black buttons.

Selene huffs out a soft laugh against her lips, “I don’t think you ever complained about that before,” she murmurs smoothly, easing the leathers off, exposing the light, sweat-stained shirt she wears underneath, starting on that as Mor still struggles with the tunic.

With a soft hiss Mor snaps as her shirt drops to the floor as well, leaving her bare save the band of fabric around her breasts. Her magic tears the remaining buttons from the fitted fur tunic and she shoves the heavy material to the floor. Selene looses a soft growl at this, proud of the uniform she bears as Kallias’ personal guard but Mor just covers her lips with her own, groaning against them, “I’ll pay for a tailor to fix it.”

As she presses in close, the two of them now skin to skin, Selene decides the uniform is far less important than kissing Mor as hard as she can. Their mouths crash together again and Mor closes her eyes, sinking into it.

She hadn’t realised how much she had needed this. Not just today but for all these years, all these years she went untouched by someone who truly knew her. There have been no females in all these years, she’s deprived herself of them, Rhys’ absence and her increased number of visits to the Hewn City peaking her terror that someone would discover her secret and she couldn’t bear it, not on top of everything.

Now...The feel of Selene’s hands skimming over her skin, the touch feather light but so intimate, so perfect. It’s been too long, too long since her body has been properly worshipped, properly responded to that worship.

She’s trembling she realises, her eyes closed, every muscle tight and tense. It’s hard sometimes, to let go, to fully release herself into the arms of her lover. Selene understands, draws back, cradles her face tenderly in her hands, stroking a finger through her hair. Leaning in she kisses her soft and slow, lips moving gently against her mouth, opening her up, softening her.

“It’s alright,” she whispers quietly, “You’re alright, Morrigan.” Another kiss, a little harder this time and she responds, pressing her tongue into Selene’s mouth, tasting the cool sharpness of the mint tea she had drunk as they’d sat outside. It grounds her, draws her in to the female that she wants, that she _needs_ more than anything else in this moment.

Selene nudges her back towards the cot, gently guiding her body down, strong arms cradling her, only releasing her once she’s settled against the crisp white sheets. Mor reaches out, takes her hand and draws her down, urging her down until she’s braced over her, one hand on the side of her hand, catching in her hair.

The only sound in the tent, in the world, is that of their heavy, panting breaths. Then Selene is swallowing them again, kissing her and moving down her body, slowly, so slowly, letting her get used to this. Mor closes her eyes again, slides her hands into the sheets beneath her, anchoring herself as Selene starts to kiss her neck, sucking gently. Instinct has her tipping her head back, giving her better access and Selene responds, lips moving slightly, sucking on a different place. Careful, she’s so careful not to bruise her, not to leave a mark where anyone might see, might know.

It had torn at Mor for the years that had slept together. The secrecy was a necessity to keep her safe because the mere thought of revealing this to anyone had sent such a panic surging through her that she might have been a child in that court all over, cowering as her father roared at her. But she had felt the weight of it sitting low in her gut, the guilt, that even in their most vulnerable, most desperate, instinctive moments, they still had to be careful, still had to guard themselves. She could not leave any marks upon her partner’s body, could not leave a trace of what they had shared together.

Selene had never pressured her, never judged her, never added to that weight that filled her. But she had felt it, had felt her sadness at having to hide like this, at not being able to take her and mark her and claim her as she wanted, the effect that had had one her.

Now...Now though...That care that Selene lavishes upon her, that acceptance, that utter lack of judgement despite what it’s cost her, what it’s cost them both...Mor feels her heart clench in response, her throat tightening with emotion she can’t place, can’t put into words but that she knows, when Selene pauses to meet her eyes, that she understands.

“Relax,” Selene whispers and Mor starts at the sound of her voice, the heat of her breath against her ear. She hadn’t realised how much tension she was still holding in her body. “Relax, Morrigan,” she breathes again and Mor obeys. Selene’s hands stroke softly over her body, cool and soothing, and the tightness, the fear, the panic, the pain, all bleed from her in response to her lover’s touch.

Only once she’s near liquid beneath her after so many soft touches and presses of her lips against her body, does Selene continue. Her kisses move slowly, agonisingly slowly, down her body, pausing to take one of her breasts in her mouth, teeth scraping sharply over her nipple until Mor is arching from the cot and moaning, a hand fisting in Selene’s hair, the feel of it like strands of silk between her fingers.

Selene flashes her a rare, wicked smirk that says, quite plainly, _I remember what you like, angel._ Mor has to bite back her moan at the look flashing in her grey eyes, the heat that pulses there, just for a moment, before she presses her lips to Mor’s skin again.

Her lips press gently between the valley of her breasts and then down, hands bracing gently against her hips to stop her arching from the bed, keeping her down and steady for her. Her grey eyes flick briefly up to meet Mor’s as she dips down over her stomach, the ragged scar in her abdomen from the nail her father had rammed into her all those years ago. It’s never healed, not fully, and all of tonight, thinking about her father, that court, she’s been fighting off the ghosts of phantom pains for hours.

The look in Selene’s eyes as her fingers softly stroke the raw edges of it, tells her that, somehow, she knows that. Her mouth is gentle and careful as she presses it down over the mark, kissing and calming and soothing. This part of her where her ghosts still live, where the demons she still has to shove down into that dark pit where they belong. Selene worships it. Worships this part of her that, more than anything, represents the reasons she needs to hide. It’s acceptance from this woman who might have been everything were it not for this and it means everything to her in this moment.

Emotion clogs her throat and she forces herself to swallow it down as at last she lets that final piece of tension flood out of her. Selene has drawn it all out of her body, like poison from a wound, and with this last drop she lets herself surrender to her entirely.

Selene’s long, slender fingers pick deftly at the laces of her trousers, opening them up. Mor lifts her hips from the bed, helping her slide them down her legs, along with her underwear. She remembers now how much Selene had always liked to tease her, stroking her through her underwear until the fabric was soaked and she was writhing, pleading for her to touch her, to please just _touch_ _her_. There’s none of that tonight, as Selene tugs off her boots and tosses the last of her clothes to the floor, leaving her bare before her.

Eyes of sparkling slate meet her own rich caramel brown and then Selene presses gently against her and murmurs, voice low and husky, dripping with want, “Spread your legs for me, Morrigan.” She obeys her, a soft whimper bubbling from her lips as she does.

Selene settles herself comfortably between her thighs, pushing her longer silver hair over her shoulders. Then she leans down and licks through Mor’s folds, groaning at her taste. No teasing, no drawing it out, no easing her into it. She knows what she wants and she takes it. Mor arches against her mouth as Selene’s hands brace at her hips, holding her against her as she sets up a steady, relentless rhythm.

Mother above, it’s been so long, so long since she’s felt this pleasure with her partner. So long since she’s felt truly worshipped in bed. No matter how kind the males are to her there’s always something missing, something that feels _wrong_ , stopping her from fully giving into them. There’s no such barrier with Selene, no such sense of unease. Everything about this feels _right_ , every point where their bodies connect belongs to her lover, to the pleasure she draws from her.

“Selene,” Mor whispers and she catches a flicker of those grey eyes flashing in her direction before she returns her attention to her task once more. “ _Selene_ ,” Mor whimpers again, the name bursting from her in something like a sob as she arches her hips from the bed, unable to help herself.

 Too long, it’s been too damn long since she had this and she needs it, she _deserves_ it, and Selene gives it to her. Every touch echoes with understanding. She knows, she _knows_ what she’s been deprived of, what she’s been starved, what she’s been craving, of all these decades and she rains it down upon her. Like a crescendo in one of the grand symphonies that plays in Velaris, they’ve been building to this all these years and her body _sings_ for Selene.

Mor lets loose a hoarse whimper, unable to help herself. She’s usually far less vocal in bed, particularly with females, that fear that’s become so intrinsic it controls her without her thinking about it strangling any sound that might give her away but with her, with _her_.

“I know,” Selene murmurs quietly, breathing heavily as she pauses to look up at Mor again, “I know, angel.” The words are gentle, soothing, coaxing her through this because she’s here, she’s here with her, they’re together again, and nothing else matters. Not the fight she had with Feyre, not the battle, not the fragile alliance, not the war, nothing but the woman cradled between her hips and the pleasure that’s pulsing through her in thick, hot waves.

Her hand scrabbles desperately against the sheets, looking for an anchor, for something to cling to, tugging at the taut sheet. Until Selene’s smooth, slender fingers lace with hers, the starkness of her pale skin striking where it merges with the soft golden tan of Mor’s own. Letting out a little moan Mor squeezes her hand and Selene grips her hip more tightly with the other, pulling her harder against her mouth, her tongue circling her clit and Mor has to clamp her other hand over her mouth to keep herself from crying out.

Mor melts before this tempest of ice and stone. Her hips rock against her mouth and she slides her hand into the sleek silver hair, tugging, guiding her into a rhythm. Selene’s eyes flick up to meet Mor’s and then she yields to her, letting her move her where she wants her. Mor groans at the submission, at the way she gives up control this way and that it’s for her, only for her. Her eyes slip shut and she lets out another hoarse moan, Selene increases her pace in response, growling a little, pulling her harder against her mouth.

“Sel-“ She rasps out, her voice hoarse with want. “I want, I need-“

“I know what you need,” she interrupts, that low, cool voice, like fresh, untouched snow blanketing her body, thick with lust.

Mor pants as her thumb gently circles her clit, keeping her on the edge while her mouth is occupied in a different kind of torment. The tip of her finger brushes her entrance, teasing, testing, causing one corner of her mouth to tug up into a sharp smile at how wet she is for her. Mor tilts her hips, angling them, trying to have her- Selene snarls at her and she forces herself to stay still, biting her lip to contain her whimper as her finger circles, playful, but never quite giving her what she needs.

“You need my fingers in you,” Selene murmurs and Mor can’t breathe, can’t force a single gasp of air into her frozen lungs and it feels as though it’s all been sucked from the tent. The tip presses into her and Mor can’t help the faint whine that rises in her throat in answer, Selene’s eyes are gleaming with triumph, with wonder as she watches her. “Then you’ll come for me,” she muses softly, “Won’t you?”

Their eyes meet again, sharp and piercing, and Mor nods urgently, her body shaking with anticipation of what will come next, what this woman can do to her with those long, clever fingers. “Yes,” she manages to get out, knowing that Selene is waiting for the words, the pledge.

“My girl,” Selene breathes softly, at last sliding inside her and Mor smothers the cry that builds, trapping it inside her chest where it burns alongside the pleasure that tightens in her core. “My good girl,” she goes on, voice dropping into a lilting purr as she presses in a second finger and Mor moans for her, arching against the touch, quivering for her.

“Good girl,” Selene murmurs, her breath hot against her as she dips back down. Mor whimpers, going loose at the words, a hot flush spreading through her skin, instantly soothed by the balm of Selene’s touch. She likes being told that she’s good, likes hearing her partner compliment her that way in bed, and Selene knows that, Cauldron damn her but she knows.

She lets the soft praise drop from her tongue once more before she presses it again over Mor’s clit. Mor cries out, the sound stifled and hoarse but it’s enough, enough to draw a faint growl from Selene. She falls into a steady rhythm, fingers pumping in and out of her while she sucks on her clit. Mor desperately squeezes her hand, biting down on her lip so hard that it hurts as she tries to contain her cries of pleasure.

 A dull, distant part of her, connected to that chord of fear that’s twined around her chest, squeezing the life from her whenever she tries to truly emerge into it, whispers that the war camp is just beyond the thin walls of this tent, that she can’t be discovered like this, with Selene’s fingers inside her, mouth buried between her thighs, that she has to stay quiet.

The bigger part of her, the part that’s truly _her_ , doesn’t care. As Selene builds her up and up for her she lets her mouth open, gasps out her name, floods the air around them with hoarse curses and brittle moans. When she comes for her she cries out her name and she doesn’t care who can hear her, doesn’t care if the whole damned world can see her as she arches against her lover’s mouth and gasps her name like it’s the answer to a prayer her soul has been howling into the empty void inside her heart for fifty years.

Selene guides her through her climax before withdrawing her fingers and sucking the taste of Mor from them, her eyes glittering, like moonlight gilding steel. Then she lets Mor’s body sink down onto the sheets, a mess from her writhing and clutching at them, melting into it.

The quiet comes then. The quiet that she hasn’t felt in fifty years. Silence sweeps through her, settling the jarring ache in her bones, soothing the raw pain in her muscles, calming the fire that tears through her nerves. That brittle bite of fear, honed to razor sharpness by all the years she’s spent honing it, hiding herself, constantly leaving her balanced on that knife’s edge of terror, goes quiet. The world goes quiet with it and she closes her eyes and sinks into it, lets it swallow her whole.

Only with Selene has she ever felt this way, felt this calm, this rightness after being with another person. Only she can soothe her, that ice that pulses through her veins a balm to the raging fire that roars within her, never letting her rest, never letting her stop, never letting her _breathe_.

Mor returns to herself to find Selene’s eyes on her, her lips pressed gently to the scar on her abdomen. Her throat tightens again at the awe in Selene’s eyes, the gratitude that blossoms in her chest not leaving room for anything else.

With a soft growl Mor surges forwards, pulling Selene towards her, their mouths crashing together in a rough, bruising kiss that contains all the force of the storm of emotions that are flooding through her.

Breaking the kiss, Mor draws her against her, Selene’s back pressed to her chest, cradling her in her arms, her body pressed close to Mor’s as she props herself up on the pillows behind her, Selene’s head resting on her shoulder. Mor kisses the crown of her head, stroking her fingers through her long silver hair, waiting her to protest the position. Instead, eyes fixed on hers, Selene settles, submitting to her. A wide grin spreads across Mor’s face in answer.

Cupping her breast in one hand she tugs and pinches her nipple between her fingers until it hardens for her, Selene gasping and arching into the touch. “You’re beautiful,” Mor murmurs to her, leaning down and pressing a soft kiss to her lips, tasting the urgency on her tongue when she presses it into her mouth.   

She holds her gaze as one hand continues playing with her breast, teasing her nipple the way she likes, dragging her nails gently over it until Selene breaks the kiss, mouth trembling. The other circles idly just above her stomach, spiralling gradually lower and lower with each pass.

Selene has always been slender, a slim, muscular build compared with her own softer, sweeping curves. She’s barely changed, despite all the time that’s passed between them. There are a few  more scars marring her body now, though, the raised lines a faint silver against her white skin. Mor arches an eyebrow, lingering over one, silently demanding the story, teasing her.

A faint growl breaks out of Selene’s lips and she squirms irritably in Mor’s arms. Mor smirks, she’s always been easy to tease, so easy to make her break when they’re in bed together. She’s a fearless warrior on the field, solid and loyal to a fault, utterly implacable...But once Mor gets her on her own, draws her into her arms and touches her this way...She belongs to her.

“Someone shot an arrow at Kallias Under the Mountain in a bullshit assassination attempt,” she grits out between pants.

Mor’s hand remains stubbornly tracing over the scar without moving further down her body where she knows she’s wanted. “So?” She prompts, her voice a low purr, thrumming with heat.

Selene groans, “So I got in the way,” she growls impatiently. “Mor-“ she bites out, before Mor has a chance to chastise her for her reckless devotion to her high lord. “Mor, please.”

That word snaps the leash she had held over herself. Teasing has never been a strong suit of hers, she wants too badly to give in to her partner, to make them moan for her, make them say her name as they climax for her.

She had delighted in unravelling this woman’s secrets. It had taken them so long, so long with all their cautious courtship, to fall into bed with one another. When they had Mor had dedicated as much of that night as Selene had allowed to learning just how to touch her, how to make the sounds she longed to hear from her again.

Selene hadn’t needed to learn with her, had seemed made knowing just what to do with her. Every precise touch, every careful kiss had been carefully planned from weeks, perhaps _months_ of observing her, of leaning about her. Instinct had dragged Selene through every moment and alone in the cabins, surrounded by mountains and echoing silence for miles, Mor had given into her completely, and had not been shy in letting her know how much she loved being with her this way.

This time echoes that first. So long, it’d been so long, both then, and now, since she had been touched by a woman in this way. Before Selene there had only been Andromache and Mor’s mourning for her and fear of going through that agony again had lasted long enough to keep away other lovers, other females, so that by the time Selene found her...Her entire body, her _soul_ had yearned for those touches, had taken them all and then begged for more and Selene had given them to her.

Tonight, too, it’d been too long since she’d been touched, since she’d been truly _touched_. Most of her lovers barely even went skin deep, coming up against the barrier she kept around herself. Made of light and laughter and bright smiles so few ever saw it for what it was – a shield. It kept them from truly touching her, truly knowing her, helped her smile through their embraces and long for another time, for another lover, when she had truly _loved_ them.

Selene...Selene had brushed against her very soul this night and found the stars that lived beneath her skin where others saw only sunshine.

Now she sinks down and kisses her, deeply, her fingers starting to stroke the inside of her thighs. Selene spreads her legs for her slowly, deliberately, and in spite of herself Mor groans. Her hand dips down between her thighs and groans at how wet she is. She’s been able to scent her arousal blending with her own for a while now but _feeling_ how much she needs her snaps something inside her.

“You’re going to come around my fingers,” she promises her quietly, kissing her again. “You’re going to come screaming my name, Selene.”  

A soft snarl is torn from her at that and she spits, “Get on with it, Morrigan. Or are you intending to just talk to me until I-“ She arches against her with an audible whimper as Mor starts circling her clit, smirking.

“Impatient, aren’t we,” she chides gently as Selene writhes against her touch.

“ _Morrigan_ ,” she snaps out, proving the truth of that assessment. Selene loves and hates the torture of her teasing in equal measure.

Some nights she’ll drag it out, torment her, make her wait, make her beg, push her to the point that she’s barely coherent, tugging on her hair and spitting curses whenever she can drag the breath into her lungs to do so. Tonight, though, tonight she just wants to hear her _moan_ for her.

She drags her finger gently through Selene’s folds again, testing her, then, before the faint whine she looses at the contact has finished filling the air around them, she slides two fingers into her and draws out a long, low moan.

“That’s it,” Mor breathes softly, leaning down and kissing her through it as she starts to move her fingers, slow, she doesn’t want to tease her too much but...She still wants to draw more of those beautiful sounds from her. Selene presses them against her tongue, rising against her hand as Mor falls into a steady rhythm, fingers pressing into her, her thumb brushing over her clit whenever she wants to hear her whimper.

Selene is so stoic most of the time, so serious and composed and controlled, it still delights Mor that she mewls like a kitten when they’re in bed together. All she has to do to break through that composed wall of ice and stone is murmur filth in her ear, kiss her, brush her fingers against that bundle of nerves between her thighs and then she’s melting into her arms and whining with every breath.

Mor kisses her through it as she increases her pace a little, her other hand start to tease her nipple once more, lips drifting down to her neck for a brief moment. Selene cries out hoarsely, arching against her and Mor growls at her, making her collapse back down into her arms, whimpering. Her eyes are closed, a faint sheen of sweat starting to show on her pale skin as Mor starts building her closer to her climax.

“Fuck,” Selene whispers and Mor smirks as she kisses that filthy mouth of hers. Until she had bedded her she had never heard her curse but when they’re alone, tangled in sheets and sweat and skin, she draws her out of her armour. “Fuck, Mor, I’m close-“ She breaks herself off, panting, as another loud moan spills past her lips. Mor covers them with another rough kiss, silencing her, even as she increases her pace, feeling Selene’s hips buck against her hand.

“I know,” Mor murmurs, echoing Selene’s words from earlier, slowing just a little to quiet her moans as she continues, “I know. You want to come for me, don’t you?” Selene whines, arching against her and nodding.

Mor smiles, thinking how few people have had the pleasure of seeing her like this, as exposed and vulnerable as she becomes in her arms. Selene has always been picky with her lovers and so few have ever managed to break down her walls far enough to get in but for her...For her she breaks over and over again just to allow herself to be held.

Leaning down she kisses her, increasing her pace again without warning, thumb pressing over her clit in tight, fast circles designed to make her come. Selene cries out loudly, scrabbling desperately at Mor’s shoulders, her nails leaving raw red lines in her golden skin as she arches against her, her continuous cries covered as Mor clamps a hand over her mouth, dragging her higher and higher.

When Mor feels her finally tightening around her fingers, her body quivering and tense as she comes for her she removes her hand from over her mouth. Selene is entirely silent as her spine arches, her mouth tipping open, her eyes closed as she presses back into the cradle of Mor’s body. Then she slumps back down onto the cot beneath them, panting, her silver hair plastered to her sweat damp skin.

Mor cards her fingers lightly through Selene’s hair, drawing it back from her face, soothing her as she pants, eyes still closed. It helped. The sex helped, the release, it always does, drawing some of the tension from her body this way always does something for her but..The closeness, the understanding that they share, the intimacy of this and the fact that she wants to stay with her, all does more for her than the physical release.

With most of her other lovers she slips away as soon as she can, her body sated, her heart aching worse than when she’d tumbled into bed seeking distraction and escape, finding only a brief burst of pleasure and then guilt and shame. Now she loops her arms gently around Selene, drawing her in close, indulging in the tender, peaceful moments following the haze of heat and sweat and relief that she so rarely wants to enjoy.

After a few long moments, Selene’s panting eases up a little and her eyes flutter open, grey gleaming with silver as she meets her gaze. A slow, lazy smile blooms across Mor’s face and she leans down, pressing her lips to Selene’s, her hair falling over them, holding them together.

Selene manages to last almost five whole minutes before she squirms out of Mor’s arms and wanders towards the small section of the tent where she can wash herself. Mor remains curled lazily against the sheets, smiling as she watches Selene’s naked form pad across the tent, moon kissed hair swaying with her movements.

She’s always been particular about this and Mor has gotten used to it by now. It stirs something in her chest, that they’re so familiar, it feels intimate, personal, special, in a way that so few of her relationships ever have. Selene wanders back a few minutes later, fixing Mor with a pointed grey glower, like gathering stormclouds and Mor laughs, throwing a pillow at her head as she uncoils and pushes herself up. Selene, irritatingly enough, catches the pillow and frowns slightly at her. Mor just kisses it from her lips as she passes, leaving Selene alone.

She takes her time in the washroom, cleaning up, trying to sort through the confusing tangle of emotions. This is _right_ , this is how it should be, this is what she wants, this is what she deserves, and yet...And yet...This wasn’t supposed to make her feel this way, wasn’t supposed to make her feel anything.

 She had stumbled into this tent looking for release, for some good sex to push memories of the war and her argument with Feyre to some distant part of her mind where she could ignore them for an hour or two. She hadn’t intended these, hadn’t intended this sudden rush of emotion, of guilt, or of the deep, cavernous longing that seems to be hollowing out her chest with every moment. Her body longs to be enveloped by Selene’s again, longs to have her scent drowning her and her heart...Her heart has always been a fickle thing, wanting what it can’t have.

Taking a deep breath and slapping a bright smile onto her face she knows Selene might see beneath she steps out into the tent again. Selene is sitting near the end of the cot, staring into the blank wall opposite as though she can see through it, see right to the distant horizon beyond and all its possibilities.

 She’s still naked, has always been comfortable in her own skin, with her body and herself, but she has a sheet wrapped around her, balled up in her lap and pressed against her stomach for warmth and comfort. The sheet is fresh, crisp and white, changed since Mor was in the washroom. A soft smile tugs at her lips at the realisation as she remembers the first few times they had been together and Selene had practically changed the sheets underneath them while they were still curled on top of them, her need for order and cleanliness dragging her that far. She’s gotten slightly more relaxed about it now than she had when she’d been younger but...Mor still smiles at the familiarity of it.

Padding towards her, Mor eases down onto the cot behind her, making it dip slightly with her weight, causing Selene to sway, though she doesn’t look round at her. Obviously still lost in thought, she barely reacts to the feel of Mor wrapping her arms around her, cuddling her from behind. She nuzzles happily against her neck, humming quietly in contentment.

Selene remains still and quiet in front of her, still staring straight ahead, as though carved from ice, an unyielding statute of diamond. Finally she says, voice distant, “We said we weren’t going to do this again.”

Mor stiffens but Selene makes no move to slide free of her embrace and she doesn’t pull away either. Swallowing, voice a little raw and hoarse when she manages to get it out, the feelings she had smothered so effectively while she was cleaning up rising in her throat and threatening to choke her once more, she says, “I know. I’m-“

“Don’t.” Selene’s voice remains quiet and level but firm as she forestalls the apology that had been about to stumble from her lips. “Don’t,” Selene repeats, softer this time, lowering her head at last, shaking it. She stays quiet, letting her sort through whatever she’s obviously struggling with, laying her head gently against the back of her neck and squeezing her gently.

After a long pause in which she struggles with herself and Mor has to bite her tongue to stop herself blurting something out, Selene says, “I missed you too.” Mor goes completely still behind her, not having expected those words at all. She doesn’t speak, barely dares to breathe in case she interrupts what’s happening between them.

 “We ended what we had before Amarantha came,” Selene goes on and Mor closes her eyes, pressing in closer to her, needing to feel her cradled in her arms to be able to endure this. “It shouldn’t have mattered but...I still-“ She breaks off and Mor can see the frown that will have creased her face, pinching between her brows before smoothing out again.  

“All those years I spent there with Kallias,” _there_ that word haunts her, it’s all Rhys will say too, none who experienced the terrors of being Under the Mountain wants to speak of them now, as though whispering even the name of that foul place will make it real again, as though it’s a curse that will drag them back. “I never knew how you were, if you were dead or alive, if the _world_ was dead or alive. We had been separated for almost two years there was so much death, so much destruction and chaos and pain and through it all...Through it all, all I could think about was you.”

Mor closes her eyes, burying her face in Selene’s silver hair, breathing in her scent and letting it ground her. Selene swallows, her voice tight when she manages to get out, “I missed you. For all that time, I regretted what I had done, I regretted ending things with you, I regretted not spending every moment that I had with you.”

Mor trembles and one of Selene’s hands lifts from the bed and takes hers, lacing their fingers together, joining them again.

“I wanted you back in my bed. I wanted you back in my arms, safe...With me.” Her voice quivers just slightly on the last word and Mor’s trembling worsens. Selene squeezes her hand, somehow still composed, still controlled, her own defence against the horrors she’s endured. “All those years...” She whispers, her voice shifting slightly, “All that time...And nothing has changed, has it?”

“Selene...” Mor breathes, a note of warning in her voice as her muscles tighten, though she remains curled around her.

“I thought it might have,” she says, the words sharp and short, as though she’s barely listening to Mor, barely conscious of her presence, the words simply spilling from her because she can’t stop them. “It was something that kept me going down there, thinking of you,” she murmurs absently and every bit of taut focus in Mor’s body seems to have narrowed in on what she’s saying. “I thought perhaps...Perhaps that situation would have given you the courage that you needed. Perhaps him coming home to you, finding his mate, that love and acceptance, would have pushed you to want the same for yourself. Perhaps this war might change it, the fact that we could die at any moment but...”

Mor doesn’t think she’s breathing anymore, doesn’t think she can as Selene whispers softly, “It would still be the same, wouldn’t it?” In spite of herself, in spite of her restraint, all that rational logic that rules every other aspect of her life...There’s a strangled note of desperate hope in those words. “The secrets. The lies. The hiding. It would all have to be the same?”

“Yes.” The answer is harsh, brutal almost, but it’s all she has. She won’t lie to this woman. She will lie to her friends, her family, _herself,_ but not her, not about this.

Selene flinches at the words, almost imperceptibly but...Mor knows her too well not to notice. “I can’t do it.” A similar sort of answer, a similar sort of truth, cold and hard.

 Their love has always been a battle, not for any kind of intensity or volatility between them, but between what they want and what the world demands them to be. They’ve had to fight for this, claw their way through violence and pain, battle to reach that soft no-man’s land between their conflicting wants and needs and worlds where they can embrace before the chaos drags them back. And like a battle there’s no romance to be found here, no poetry or chance for glory or eternity, only a brutal, bloody reality.

“I know,” Mor says softly.

For the first time Selene seems to slump in Mor’s arms, some of the characteristic straight-laced posture deflating as that last spark of hope was drained from her. “I want to, Mor,” she whispers, but the words are hollow, the heart in them held in Mor’s hands, crumbling to dust in the face of this torment because she knows she wants something she cannot have. “I know it is difficult for you. I know it has been a long time. I know you’re scared and that your situation is so different from mine but...”

Selene turns over her shoulder, looking at her at last, startling Mor with the weight of that gaze, the depth of emotion stirring in it. “This is killing you.” She says, the words flat and steady. Reaching out she tucks a strand of Mor’s hair behind her ear. “It’s killing me and I...I’m barely even a part of your life anymore.” She says, unable to keep the hint of bitterness from the words.

“Don’t say that,” Mor breathes back automatically, her heart seizing up and recoiling at the statement, even if that small fear tethered part of her whispers that it’s true.

“It’s true,” Selene says quietly. “And it’s my own fault,” she says heavily, covering her face with the hand not holding Mor’s. “It was my choice to leave, I know that but...It still hurts, Mor.” Her voice is hoarse now and she can hear the strain of trying to hold on to that composure even as it splinters around her. “It still hurts, Mor,” she says, the words ragged and raw. “It hurts how much I want you. It hurts how much you want me, how much we want this. Having to hide it, having to hide _myself_ , having to hide how I feel-“

Mor closes her eyes as Selene cuts herself off, her back straightening again as she draws those walls around herself once more. In all their time together, she rarely speaks openly about how she feels, what she wants. A muscle feathers in her jaw and Mor nudges closer. Selene, already half-turned to her, faces her fully and opens her arms, letting her slide into them, holding her head against her shoulder, fingers stroking softly through her hair.

“I’m not ready,” Mor whispers, not looking at Selene as she says it, not wanting to see the way the light in her grey eyes dims.

“I know,” Selene murmurs, fingers still absently smoothing through Mor’s hair. She bites her lip, “Maybe this was selfish,” she mutters, dragging a hand through her own hair, “I-“

“Can it really have been selfish,” Mor interrupts her quietly, “If we both felt the same way?”

Selene huffs out something like a laugh and shakes her head, “I don’t know,” she admits. “I...I don’t know anything with you.”

 The statement is said softly, almost fondly, her fingers still stroking through her hair but Mor still shifts, still slides gently out of her arms, getting slowly to her feet. A whisper of affection is not enough to drown out the howl of harsh reality that’s just passed between them. The distance between them that she had barely noticed when Selene had first approached her now feels like a chasm, gaping and hollow, like the ravaged heart in her chest.

“I’ll go,” she says quietly, bending down to pick up her shirt.

Before she can pull it over her head, Selene’s cool fingers curl gently around her wrist, sliding down to her hand when Mor pauses, hesitating, though she doesn’t turn. “In the morning,” she says with quiet intensity. “You’ll go in the morning. “ Mor finally looks at her and she can’t deny her anything, looking into this deep grey eyes. Selene squeezes her hand and draws her down, kissing her softly, tenderly, before she whispers, “But you’ll stay now.”

Mor hesitates for a moment, wavering, but Selene gently gives a tug on her hand and she caves in completely. “I’ll stay,” she rasps quietly, nodding. Crawling back onto the bed she lets Selene draw her into her arms, lying back against the cot, their bodies entwined. Selene drags a blanket over the two of them, holding her close, her arms wrapped tenderly around her.

“I’ll stay,” Mor murmurs again, as Selene causes an icy draft to blow through the tent, extinguishing the candles and allowing them to gutter, enveloping them in darkness. She wishes, as she nestles into the warm comfort of Selene’s embrace, that this wouldn’t end with the dawn. Then finds herself wishing instead, that the dawn will simply never come and leave her lost in the moon’s gentle embrace forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!!


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